


...and all manner of thing shall be well

by v_dolokhov



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Action, Drama, Horcrux Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 20:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_dolokhov/pseuds/v_dolokhov
Summary: Year 1956. It all happened much earlier: Voldemort already has an army, Albus already knows about horcruxes, and the world is not ready for another Wizarding War. The government is making a bold desion to release Grindelwald from prison so that he can help Dumbledore to try and stop the Dark Lord.





	...and all manner of thing shall be well

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [И всяк взыскующий обрящет](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17349530) by [v_dolokhov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_dolokhov/pseuds/v_dolokhov). 



> I`m translating my own writing from russian and as english is not my first language I`m in desperate need of a Beta. If somebody wants to help - please contact me.
> 
> Inspired by: https://sarashouldbestudying.tumblr.com/post/181251347608/grindeldore-au
> 
> Title is from FOUR QUARTETS by T.S. Eliot. And is actually makes more sense in russian. But oh well
> 
> As I am a horrible person I changed birth years of Albus and Gellert to 1911 and 1913, respectively. Whether to share this ageism or not is at the discretion of the reader.

_With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling_

_We shall not cease from exploration_

_And the end of all our exploring_

_Will be to arrive where we started_

_And know the place for the first time._

ts eliot

 

Thoughts were flying around in his head, dropping feathers. White-hot images were flashing before his eyes.

_... Crimson drops, heavy like ripe cherries, dripped from his fingers. Their heady sweetness tickled his lips. Unbearable smell of ash filled the air and the cold wind eagerly licked his weathered cheeks. Gellert stood with his head thrown back and, trembling from both excitement and fatigue, watched everything he had created crumbling brick by brick. A grand and terrible sight. Realization that his life was over bloomed in him like a poisonous flower. He had burnt the last bridge and cut off the opposite bank forever. Albus held the Elder Wand, his wand, in his hand. From distant foreign world Gellert could hear triumphant shouts: the war was over. He lost. For the greater good…_

The bright colors of his dream turned into plain grayness of Nurmengard. Hanging low over the castle the sky was breathing heavily. Cold air was lined with stripes of rain and wet snow. In the morning the pale sun began its joyless path along the stone walls from right corner to the left, weakening with each passing hour. When the last beam slept out of a small window under the very ceiling, blue velvet of the night, worn out and dirty, fell above castle`s roofs.

Once in a while a bird would fly by, swimming in the clear air, teasing with its intoxicating freedom.

_...The evening, sweltering and dark, lies heavy on his shoulders. The sky is shot by scraps of a passing day and is swiftly absorbed by the darkness. The air is so fresh, so wet and smooth, full of meanings in the coolness of night dew. But can any of them feel this beauty on their cheeks? They huddle together. A foul cloud of their breath poisons the air. They greedily look at the fire lit in front of them. Books are quickly devoured by flame. Gellert hears German ribaldry and the smell of cheap tobacco. Muggles stubbornly raise insensible faces to the stars seeing nothing but blackness. Their swarming resembles jumps of hungry fleas on a body of a wet dog. What consciousness can there be, in such stench and ugliness? They are destroying the little that they were able to achieve in their wretched, senseless wars for power that does not even belong to them. What on Earth can Albus see in them?..._

His bored eyes, grinding off on rough, uneven stones, slid mindlessly along the walls. Gellert was breathing heavily, and a milky white steam quivered over his lips — probably there, beyond these endless mountaintops, winter had come. Gellert struggled to his feet and did a few laps around the cell. He thought that over the years his dreams, his memories would fade, become distant and unreal. But on the contrary, they were saturated with life, dragging him inside them, away from his present, back to the times when life was beating in his veins and power was in his hands. He knew — he was afraid — that he was going crazy. He had long lost count of the days. Gellert was not sure how much time he spent in prison. He only knew that no less than eternity had passed. Short hours of wakefulness sooner or later gave way to new dreams, and he rushed to them with the despair of a suicide bomber. He is used to these memories. He welcomes them. But only recently (or, perhaps, a very long time ago), his memories were replaced by someone else’s. Replaced with withering visions. He knew - these were prophecies. Before, in that other life, Gellert did not pay much importance to his gift. He was never a fatalist. He was convinced that future could be changed. Now, deprived of fresh thoughts, his bored brain was itching, and desperately needing at least some work, his mind clutched at that damn dream, squeezing it drop by drop. He moaned softly through his teeth.

The vision came back:

_...Something dark and infinitely powerful was being torn apart. It was gathering forces and had crimson-red snake eyes. He saw blood and thousands of deaths, but not from his hand. He saw lightings and emerald green flashes of evil at the end of July. Skulls teeming with snakes. And atrocities that were done without purpose and measure..._

Gellert closed his eyes, slowly sliding to the floor. He saw this vision again and again, he would fall asleep and wake up with its nasty hissing. Gellert was afraid. That morning, of course, should not had been an exception. If suddenly he had not felt that something else was striving towards his consciousness, passing through those abominable scales. Something, that he should have forgotten many years ago. A touch of pure light, the cool blueness of attentive eyes. Apparently, madness came to Gellert earlier than he expected. And certainly not the way he thought it would. But steps and voices were getting louder. And seemed quite real. He stood up, straightening his robe, nervously running his hand through his dirty hair, cherishing the remaining crumbs of long lost dignity. When the door opened, he was ready to continue the conversation, that has been interrupted years ago:

— Hello, Albus. What an unexpected visit!

But he was surely not ready to hear the answer.

Barely looking at him, Albus said:

— Gellert, I need your help.


End file.
